The Secret
by Keen pnet
Summary: Dexter struggles to cope when someone, untouchable by Harry's Code, learns his dirty secret. An 'extended' one-shot.
1. She Knows

            She knows.

            I watched her over my computer monitor as she moved among the detectives. They dwarfed her, everyone usually does. Her neck must hurt from looking up all the time.

            I feel slightly foolish. Her diminutive size and frilly pink dress said she's anything but a danger, but she was. At least to me. She was the single most threatening thing in my life, which if you knew me, really says something. The hinge that held my world together was under her meticulously manicured hand and I had to remove it before she pulled it out.

            I would have never imagined seeing her in a place like that. She would have looked out of place in an S&M leather bar with her always neatly pressed lien dress suit, sensible heels and sable coloured hair pulled into a shiny tight chignon.

            ATF agent Callianne Harper was the picture of Southern gentility. The Louisianan Belle was a pseudo-relic from a day gone by when men bowed and stepped off sidewalks as ladies, always in delicate skirts, passed with giggling, their red lipstick smiles hidden behind lacy gloved hands. 

            Her accent, not at all abrasive or overpowering, sweetened her naturally sultry voice. It made words like please and thank you, of which she used often, sound like a pleasant chime. It was a welcome change from the usual never ending stream of profanities and shouts in the department.

            She was, for a lack of a better phrase, a breath of fresh air. A product of cotillions, violin and French lessons, she was a cultured woman and the picture of serenity. So imagine my surprise when I heard that sweet bell ring in the dark of Hot T's Leather Club, in the thick of its black and purple whipping rooms.

            "Dexter?"

            My name, whispered so faint and breathlessly, never sounded so ominous.

I turned slowly, my hands still wound in the cord wrapped around Granger's neck. I wouldn't have known who she was save that voice. The body she hid under her tailored vintage suits curved wickedly in the slick patent leather cat suit she wore. From the tips of her fingers and to the top of her neck she was dipped in it and it squeaked as her sculpted arm pushed open the door.

            Usually at this point, the man would be unconscious, tucked away somewhere hidden by now but Frank Granger, career rapist, was a very strong man. He broke my syringe of tranquiliser and nearly broke me next. I managed to pull the bit of electrical cord from my pocket during the tussle and wrap it around his thick neck. It wasn't my preferred method, I actually favoured pushing a knife to the centre of the chest, but for Granger it would do. I figured that amid the pleasured moaning and groaning from nearby rooms no one would hear his choked screams, but she did. 

                Callianne, through the eyes of her mask, looked at the man at my feet. Granger groaned pitifully, his skin turning purple, tongue wagging obscenely between his bloodied lips. He reached for her and I instinctively tightened on his neck, silencing his murmuring, ending what had been fifteen years of terror on the Hialeah community. His hand fell with a thud and her honey coloured eyes settled on me. The real me. Not the Dexter I pretended to be, the one I created and shaped through years of meticulous planning and doing, but the Dexter I really was.

            This was not good.

            I set Frank on the ground, rolling him into the plastic and moved to stand, maybe to explain, maybe to have her join him. But by the time I turned, she was already gone, ghosting from the door without so much as sound. I ran into the corridor after her, shouting her name over the chorus of cracking whips and grateful moans but she was truly gone.

            _Dammit__._

            I finished up with Granger rather quickly after that. Dumping him in the usual fashion and then cleaning up with extra care before I went back to the police department. I found Harper's address there and sat on her house the rest of the evening, patiently waiting for the sleek BMW to pull into park but she never came home.

            On the second day and fortunately a day off, I realised it wouldn't be wise for me to be captured while stalking what I was now sure was my first and only living eyewitness. So I went home, waiting to be detained in the comfort of my own living room. Thoughtfully awaiting that knock on my door and a stern voice that would call me to go with the dapper officers on the other side, but it never came.

            It was then I started to think then she had come into some accident in her haste to leave me that night. Callianne Harper, ever prim and proper, strictly adherent to the rules, wouldn't willingly let a transgression like that slide. She had witnessed a murder with her own two eyes, something like that would compel her to raise her voice. So knowing that, I began to imagine her as she left Hot T's.

            It was a rainy south Florida night, the roads slick, barely visible in the unrelenting down pour but still not enough motivation for our level-headed motorists to too cautiously. I could see her distraught and tearful, agonising over what kind of monster I was, careening down Dixie Highway, not at all seeing the car that turned abruptly in front of her without blinker or warning. Amid the high pitched scream of the tires, she'd swerve off the road and tumble into a canal. Trapped by her seatbelt and dazed by the impact, she'd drown in the murkiness there and her body, bloated and distended, would flake away in the foul smelling water until it was discovered by some unsuspecting pedestrian.

            I had so convinced myself she was gone I walked into the department building the next morning with confidence my secret was safe.

             And now here she sat, chatting with the other detectives, letting that sweet bell of her voice torture me, remind me of how careless and naïve I had been and also, that I had no idea what would be her next move.

            I sulked behind my computer, pretending to work, furiously flipping through case images, while I tried to gather what I should do next. I had a few near misses in my time, so this anxiety I felt was nothing new, but it wasn't welcome either. I had to know what she was planning and it seemed as if I would get an opportunity.

            Lieutenant LaGuerta strode out of her office. She spared me a wink before stopping at the table and directing them to a conference in her office. I waited until the door shut tightly behind them and the curtains were drawn before I hurried to Harper's desk. I was immediately drawn to the thick manila folder that bulged in her leather messenger bag. I undid the elastic wrap round it and frowned at the contents.

            Harper had not spoken up yet because she was building a solid case against me. Thumbing through report after report, I could see she had been investigating my doings, carefully correlating cases that came by my desk with people I made disappear. Not everyone in my collection was there, but there was enough to put me away several life sentences and then some.

            Doakes thundered in and quickly I shoved the file back into her purse, walking away as casually as I entered. He glared at me, but it was the usual hate filled scowl he gave me everyday. Settling back behind my desk, I gathered my thoughts. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do with her before then, but now I was certain. I had to kill Agent Callianne Harper.

**A/N: **I've only been privy to the first season of the show so don't crucify me for mistakes and discrepancies that come about as consequence. I just love the show and couldn't help but write a spur of the moment tribute.


	2. The First Rule

AFTER I realised what Harper had on me, I went home immediately and began planning. It took me two days, one to make my plans the next to ruminate but it was done and I was certain I had covered all the angles. I was actually proud of myself. Building a solid plan to make some burnout degenerate disappear was cake compared to explaining away an ATF agent, with family, friends and, from what I could tell, a very active sex life. Even so, I was confident all the pieces would fall into place and so far they had.

 The hours of the day waned on until the sun began to set over Biscayne Bay, washing downtown Miami in violets and reds, making everything look darker and malevolent. I glanced at the clock, ever mindful of the time and Harper. She worked contentedly in between friendly banter with Batista, who seemed too readily soak up her attentions. Masuka came to say goodbye to me and drop off a file, then came Deb, gleefully telling me she had a 'hot' date.

One by one the room emptied until there were only three of us remaining and LaGuerta was on her way out. The Lieutenant sauntered over to my desk with her usual seductive gaze, trying her best to entice me. I wish she'd stop this, but a normal red blooded man wouldn't dare shoo away the attentions of an attractive woman, so I nod in her direction, trying to look busy in the hopes she will pass soon but she doesn't. The curvy woman helps herself to a corner of my desk, clearing a space to lift her leg onto and sit.

"I'm on my way out Morgan, thinking about getting a cup of coffee. Want to join me?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant. I have a lot of work to do. I'll be here until late."

She gives me a smile and leans over the desk, "I know you're waiting for Harper."

I blink, pretending to be stunned and then shake my head with an incredulous smile, "Lieutenant, I really do have a lot of work to do the Lopez murders ar-"

"Save it," she sighs, slightly angry. "I've seen you looking at her all day. I hope it works out for you,"

_So do I_. Although I am a little disconcerted that I was caught watching, it seems to have worked to my advantage. LaGuerta abandons her efforts to bed me and turns to Harper, asking the woman her plans for the evening.

"Nothing really. The case is almost closed and once I finish up these notes, the only problem I'll have is getting them to my car." 

            "Don't worry, I'm sure Dexter won't mind helping you out." LaGuerta said nodding in my direction, with a wink.

            I smile at Harper, sunny and light and she returns it. It unsettles me that she is just as fake as I am. She was so seemingly genuine in everything she did I would have never imagined she had the capacity to be.

            "I won't be here too much later," Harper says still looking at me. "I just have to finish up this and I'll _finally_ be heading home."

            She said 'finally' like she knew I had been waiting for her. A tingle of anticipation makes me sit up. I know what I have planned for her, I wonder if she has something planned for me as well.

            "Well the both of you, try not to work too hard."                     

            LaGuerta nods good night to us and leaves. As she promised the Lieutenant, Harper spends another hour at her desk, furiously typing. Her last words no doubt, naming me as her killer. Fortunately I saw far enough ahead to redirect all her outgoing messages to a false account I set up. I would check to see if I was right afterward, because at the moment she was standing to leave.           

            I see her light switch off and I pocket my syringe of tranquiliser.

            "Hey Dex, mind helping me with this?" she says lifting an office box of paper.

            I nod and take it from her with a smile and move away. As I approach the elevators, I wonder if what I have planned is in harmony with Harry's Code. My knee jerk reaction is to say yes. I've planned so hard for this moment, taking every precaution, every detail into account so I want this to happen, I want the answer to be yes. But I know, deep down, he would be disappointed in me. Agent Harper happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but surely Harry would see the necessity in killing her. I had to preserve my secrets as well as his, after all the first rule was and always would be, "Don't get caught."

            _Don't get caught…_

The elevator sounds its arrival and I begin to worry. She's not there, still fiddling with something at her desk. I hope she won't tell me to go ahead without her. I can't kill her in the garage, there are cameras there just as there are here.  It has to be in the elevator and then to the basement. And almost as if she knew my desire, I see her part the glass doors, running as much as her heels will allow to catch up to me. In a breeze of sweet but subtle perfume, she hops inside just in time. I see her pause profoundly as she looks to the panel of buttons, none of them lit.

She glances at me and I worry she's figured it out, knows my plan and would run screaming into the hall, but Harper was very still. A soft smile curls her red lips and I feel uneasy. It's almost as if she knew and expected this moment.

Carefully I ease the box down, preparing myself for a fight. My finger slides off the needle's cap into my pocket. Her voice makes me pause.

            "I know what you do, Dexter," she began, casually pressing the garage level. "But I also know exactly _who _you do it to."

            I am surprised, "And?"

            "And if my silence buys you more time to do it, then you have it." She said turning her face to the doors again.

            The syringe is out of my pocket now. Her steadily pulsing neck calling for its sharpened tip. I only trusted person since Harry with my secret and it ended badly. I made it a point not to trust anyone since but Harper dared me to. She already put so much faith in me.

She stood with her back to me, in this closed space, in these late hours.  Both of us knew I could make her disappear in this instant, but she trusted I wouldn't. I was almost ashamed she thought so highly of me but then again, so did Harry. Harper saw what my father saw in me, a force of evil that in feeding its own need, did good. The door grumbled open and I lifted my head as she stepped through, too stunned and caught up in my own inner thoughts to stop her as she raised the box from my feet.

             "Good night, Dex" she said, lifting her eyes.

            I nod and wave out of habit, not because I will.

**A/N: **Thanks for the feedback longrun, you do not know how appreciated it was!


	3. The Challenge

ALL night I didn't sleep, both nervous and excited that someone knew me. Knew me for what I really was. A vigilante, a pretender, a killer. Harper knew it all…and was far too calm with that knowledge. I sat up quickly, puzzled by that realisation. Was she sincere or was she lying in wait to let me hang myself, setting me up?

It was ten o' clock and I found myself standing at her door, facing her, willing an answer from her mouth. One that will make everything alright and ease the urge I have to smother her. Just in case, I push my hands into my pockets to keep temptation at bay.

"How do I know you won't use this to try and manipulate me?" I asked.

It took her a minute to reply. Harper didn't look her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self at the moment. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her eyes hooded from lethargy, she hung in the door's frame like a wet rag, arms stretched out and head tilted to the side.

"You don't." She shrugged, the southern lilt making it sound sweeter than she meant it be.

"Then why shouldn't I kill you, too?"

In my pocket, my hands balled into fists, knuckles cracking audibly. The sound got her attention. Harper stood up straight now, arms at her sides. "Because it's not your style."

She smiled out of anger but I lowered my head to my feet, still refusing to be charmed by it. "How would you know my style?" I asked sullenly.

"Be serious, Dex. You think a woman doesn't know when someone has rifled through her purse?" I blush realising how sloppy my haste had made me. I am usually so much better than that. "I did my research on you and you kill the lowest of the low, scum of the earth. Not to sound arrogant, but I know I'm better than that. I'm at least more deserving than piano wire around my neck."

"Electric cable," I corrected.

She blinked. "What?"

"I used electric cable. It doesn't cut into the skin like piano wire."

I didn't know why I gave up that bit of incriminating information. I knew the words to be forming, heard them coming out of my mouth and was powerless to stop any of them. But my careless admission didn't devastate the Agent like it did me. Harper looked more thoughtful than anything else, nodding with approval.

"Much less mess that way," she said opening the door wider, inviting me inside.

Her home was like her. Neat, ordered, sweet smelling. A brown lacquered piano, swirling with strong wood pattern dominated the family room as did ceiling to floor bookshelves of the same colour. She led me though the open space to the dining table where the meal I interrupted sat. Ever the workaholic, her papers and case files sat open on the floor in neat piles, edges lined up.

After I settled into one of the high back chairs, she offered me a plate and I took it rather eagerly. All this worrying had taken its toll. I skipped dinner so the piping hot serving of paella seemed to call my name. Usually I love Latin food but the cook definitely took liberties preparing the dish. Paella is usually rich with yellow rice, shrimp, squid, mussels and clams. This one had chitterlings and was served with a fist sized slice of cornbread. Strange, culturally abhorrent but delicious.

I dug in and we ate in blissful silence as if I hadn't just told her how I killed a man or that she, a law enforcement officer, had agreed on my method.

Harper finished her glass of wine with a smack of her lips and smiled at me, her skin noticeably flushed from the alcohol. "So where do we go from here?"

"We?" I shake my head. "I do what I do alone."

"And I wouldn't dream of asking to tag along," she said with a laughing snort. If I felt anything, I would have said it hurt my pride. "I'm asking why you are here. I'd say to kill me, but I imagine you would have done that the second I opened the door."

"And yet you did."

"What? Opened the door?" I nodded and her lip curled again, her head tilting. She could see my mind working. She saw that tiny hole she punched in me and she aimed to make it bigger.

"It bothers you that I did that? That I have so much trust in you," she asked.

I suppose it did. I would like to think that she of all people, knowing my list of credentials, would be a little bit more fearful and cautious. Or at least worried enough to not laugh when she thinks I'm asking her to tag along. I think I've earned that much.

"You are right," I confessed. "It does bother me. People who are scared tend to keep their mouths shut, but you aren't."

"No I'm not," she said, too proudly. She must have seen on my face I wasn't amused and became defensive. She sulked in her seat, her legs crossed and bouncing with ire. "But since you seem to be the expert, why don't you tell me how to act."

"I am not the only one," I said looking around. Nothing on her walls, in her extensive library, her dress, _nothing_ in her entire life hinted to whom she really was or what she enjoyed…

"I hide for the same reasons you do," she countered.

"Please do not be so dramatic," I hissed. "You indulge in a kink, between two consenting adults while I…"

My voice faded. I knew she knew explicitly what I do, but I still couldn't say it out loud. Thankfully I've insulted her enough that she doesn't wait for me to say more. "You think I'd be able to have this life still if everyone knew I liked to be bitten, pinched, smacked, Dexter? You think I'd be able to hold my head up high when I go to see my mama and her sisters if they knew? I should be so lucky to be put in prison, that way I could tell myself they washed their hands of me because society had, not because they were truly ashamed of me."

"Why do you care what they think?" I asked.

Harper shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Probably because it's easier this way."

"Only for them," I grit, knowing this truth personally. "You suffer so they won't have to. Deny yourself what you need to give them what they want."

"And what's that?"

"A normal, uneventful life."

A smile ghosted her lush lips and I looked down again. "We're not talking about me anymore are we?" she asked.

"Well, we're certainly not talking about me."

I stood and moved for the door. Harper followed, walking quickly to catch up to me. She must have seen the wheels in my head turning again and finally got nervous.

"So will you start plotting my death now? Some way to make me vanish off the face of the earth?"

"Can you give me a reason why I should not?"

"Dexter, I know you've probably never had reason to trust someone before, but you can trust me. I'll keep your secret."

That's not entirely true. I trusted Harry, but he was the one who saw what I was even before I did. Harry and his Code taught me to hone and utilise my skills for the greater good. And it was his Code that kept me from taking the dinner knife I had pocketed and going across her neck.

"I was serious when I said I want you to continue doing what you do, Dexter. I am a pacifist myself but it doesn't make me blind to the fact that some people deserve more than what our justice system is willing to offer."

I turned hearing her words, an idea sparked in my mind. "How serious are you?"

Harper looked dead at me. "Very," she said, with a nod.

The look in her eye sent a delicious shiver through me and an equally delicious thought. "Then you find my next case," I ordered. "You find me someone who's slipped through the cracks, someone you'd approve of me killing."

Her eyes grew impossibly wide, full of disbelief. Her jaw dropped and wagged silently for a moment. "Morgan, I can't pass judgment on someone like that. I can't tell you whose life to take. I'm an Agent with the government; my job is to protect lives."

I turned quickly and I finally get the response I expected. That I deserved. Fear. Cold, wide-eyed, silent fear. She flinched as I rushed toward her, pressing her flush against the door and my body, demanding she look at me. I gazed into her eyes, almost drinking in her dread through her honey coloured irises.

"Do you really believe what I do serves a purpose?"

Harper's eyes slide from me to the ground as she nodded, obviously ashamed of her response. I took her chin in my hand and gently raised her face to mine.

"Then bring me a file."


End file.
